


Miss You Love

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry spends an awful lot of time in Los Angeles. Nick doesn't much care for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss You Love

Nick knew of this kid; Harry Styles. He had watched X Factor, and was familiar with this curly-haired, dimpled-face spawn of Satan. When he met him for the first time, he was disarmed by just how charming the little shit was. He was truly lovely. Nick didn’t understand this ball of fire that was filling his chest, caused by one Harry Styles. But he didn’t much mind it. To say he fancied him would be a stretch. Not much of a stretch, but a stretch nonetheless.  


So he really had no idea when or how or why, but soon enough, this spawn of Satan had invaded his life; his kitchen, his couch, the left side of his bathroom cabinet, and the right side of his bed. And one day, like a shock to his system, his cold, bitter heart.  


But they worked, somehow. Nick was never one for commitment and long-term planning if it didn’t involve the words ‘holiday’ or ‘Ibiza’ or ‘hangover mojitos’. But being with Harry just made sense; being with Harry just felt good. And he didn’t panic when he found himself using the word ‘we’ more often than ‘I’. He was surprised when he didn’t die when he began ordering takeaway for two, instead of one, grocery shopping for two, instead of one (five, if you include the dogs).  


When Harry left for tour and left his beloved Ramones t-shirt on the nightstand, Nick took that as a good sign. He knew it was ridiculous; keeping that stupid shirt on the nightstand, hoping he would have a chance to give it back to him, to show him he didn’t throw it away, didn’t throw him away. But it had been two weeks and there was no sign on the horizon of seeing him anytime soon.  


Every time there was a break from tour, Harry was on the first flight to LA. Every time, without fail, that was where he ended up spending his free time. And while each additional week of not seeing him picked away at that part of Nick that reminded him why he didn’t do relationships, the shirt still sat on the nightstand was a sign of something positive.  


It was just, well; it gave him comfort and a warm feeling in his gut. It reminded him that something good could happen to him, even if it was with a boy like Harry. And as long as that shirt was sat folded on his nightstand, he knew it could happen. He knew how crazy the whole thing sounded in his head. But it wasn’t half as crazy as how he felt with Harry underneath him, gripping his arms and leaving crescent-shaped reminders that he was real; this was real.  


Nick tried hard not to look at all the pictures of Harry with various celebrities and well-connected individuals, wearing that stupid fedora Nick had found while thrifting one Saturday. Harry had finally agreed to let Lou craft his mop into a quiffable hairstyle, but that day it was a proper mess and he wouldn’t stop fussing with it. Nick grabbed the hat, stuck it on his head and said decidedly, “There. A ridiculous hat for a ridiculous popstar.”  


But even though he was wearing that hat, he rarely was in contact with Nick. Half the people he was with were people he had never even seen before, and Nick was fairly sure he knew every person who ever lived ever. He had an unsettling feeling when he realized nearly all of the people Harry was photographed with were older man. Cal, he knew, of course, and Ben. But these other men were older, and from hours of Internet stalking, not actually famous.  


Whenever they Skyped and Nick would ask, Harry shrugged, scrubbed a hand over his face and answered with, “Oh, you know how it is. You have to entertain strangers to keep everyone happy.” But the tone with which he said ‘entertain’ troubled Nick. Harry couldn’t mean it the way Nick was taking it…  


During the first major break of the US leg of the tour, Nick pleaded with Harry for him to come home. It had been nearly two months since they had seen each other; Nick was fairly certain his right hand was going to fall off, and he desperately wanted to know what Harry was up to. But Harry once again said he had business to take care of in LA. Nick hung up on him, threw his phone against the wall, barely missed a sleeping Thurston on the couch.  


He sat next to the startled puppy and buried his nose into his floppy ears. “Oh dear.” He whispered. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”  


*****  
“It’s quite difficult to be in a relationship if only one of the individuals is invested, you see.” Aimee was attempting to be the devil’s advocate and was doing quite a shit job. “Who knew you would be the invested one? With Harry Styles, of all people?”  


Nick let out a loud wail and flailed around his bed. “He is making this very difficult for me! How am I supposed to be committed; he won’t even speak to me?!”  


“Do you even know if he’s doing anything with these men? You are…projecting. Deflecting? Projecting. You are projecting your own insecurities. Stop it.”  


He looked up at her and crossed his arms like a petulant child. “No. I want him to come home.”

Aimee opened Nick’s laptop that was conveniently opened to the ‘Harry Styles’ mentions on Twitter. She scrolled through, clicking on pictures. “Oh, look at that silver fox!”

Nick glared at her. “If this is your way of trying to help, you are failing miserably.”

“Well, obviously the only logical solution is for you to go kidnap him and bring him back.”  


“Then hand me my laptop. I must book a flight to America immediately.”  


*****  
It had been eight days since Nick had hung up on Harry. There had been thirteen missed calls, twenty-three un-returned texts, and five unanswered Skype calls. Nick had decided to make it a game at this point. He would hold out until Harry came home. He would not answer a single mode of communication until Harry was back in their bed.  


This was the responsible, mature thing to do when in a relationship, he told himself. Nick was positive he had read that in Cosmo once. Perhaps right under the article about the woman who suffered from uncontrollable orgasms. What a life that must be; uncontrollable orgasms? How would one get anything done?  


One text he did respond to was from Niall, a simple, _the fuck?????????_ for which Nick couldn’t help but answer with, _Hope America is treating you lads well! x_  


He was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hopping a flight to LAX with a dream and my cardigan. Right, Puppy?” The answer he got was a loud yawn that shook the entire dog’s body. Exactly right.  


*****  
Harry came back on a Saturday night, around midnight. Nick was sat on the couch in sweats and a shirt that was precisely 200 sizes too big, drinking from his bottle of something he liked to call “whinger’s wine” and watching all the DVR’ed episodes of shows he had been saving for no particular reason. Harry set his bag by the door and cleared his throat. Nick looked up, his eyebrows furrowed.  


“Well. Did the popstar finally run out of exciting adventures in America? Had to come back to dreary old London as a last resort?” He finished his glass in one gulp, never breaking eye contact. “How nice of you to remember the little people, good sir.”  


Harry crossed the length of the room in two strides, hauling Nick off the couch by his elbows. “Shut up, Nick.” He breathed against his neck. “I’ve missed you.”  


Nick laughed drily. “Fat chance. You never call, you never write, I never see the smoke signals you supposedly sen-“ His protests were cut off as Harry bit Nick’s bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth.  


“Can you just shut up? Please?” Harry’s eyes were bloodshot; Nick wasn’t sure if they were plane-red or tears-red.  
All of the anger that Nick had unnecessarily built up, all of the frustration and anxiety and uncertainty and fretting made him feel like such an asshole. Whatever was going on with Harry in LA was clearly something he didn’t have words for. Whatever it was, it was quite possibly something dark and sinister and Nick couldn’t possibly be mad that Harry was trying to protect him from that part of his life.  


And in that moment, Nick just wanted to take care of Harry. He didn’t want him to have to do things that he felt he needed to keep from Nick. Nick was a grown man, for pity’s sake. He didn’t need some punk kid trying to keep him from feeling pain and hurt and embarrassment. That should be Nick’s job. Nick should be the one protecting him. He wanted to keep him in the flat, never to return to the world he was living. Harry had more than enough money already, and Nick could continue his little radio show for a bit. He could make this work. He could make them work. He wanted them to work.

He didn’t realize he had said the last part aloud until Harry was rubbing his thumbs against Nick’s cheeks, whispering, “Me too, love. That’s why I came back.”  


They stumbled towards the bedroom, Harry undoing his belt on the way. He tripped over his feet in an attempt to shed his trousers and pants on the way to the bed. Nick chuckled fondly, forgetting just how graceful this dumb boy was.  
Nick watched as Harry lay out on his stomach. He just wanted to appreciate the moment; the boy he maybe probably most definitely loved was back with him. He felt a pang of jealousy, wondering how many other people had got to see Harry like this; laid out and vulnerable. He tried to shake those thoughts from his mind, tried to be in the here and now, because it would undoubtedly end tomorrow. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but his brain had other ideas.  


He threw his shirt off the side of the bed, and crawled up to Harry. He laid his head on his back, let his body be moved gently with his breathing. He kissed down his back, down his crooked spine. “Miss you love” He whispered to nothing in particular. He squeezed the back of Harry’s calves, prompting him to spread his thighs wide. Nick’s finger rubbed against Harry, watched as he tightened in anticipation. He waited until he heard the familiar puff of frustrated air leave Harry’s nose before he began.  


He licked the rim, kissing softly before letting his tongue push past the ring of muscles. Harry started to pant and whimper. “Are they all as good as me?” He whispered against him, tone dark. “Do they all make you feel this good? Or am I special?” Harry ground his hips to get the tongue back inside him. “Did you let me keep this, at least?”

Harry moaned. “Nick, don’t. Stop.” His knuckles were white from clenching the bedsheets, his rings digging into his fingers, sure to leave marks. 

Nick doubled his tongue, in and out, sucked gently. He grabbed the backs of Harry’s thighs hard, dug his nails in, when Harry started to rock, trying desperately to get some leverage. “Good boys know when to keep still, Harry.” He licked down to his balls; painfully slow movements that made Harry’s thighs quiver. "You know how to be a good boy, don't you?" He licked around his hole again, sucked hard, pushed in just the tip of his tongue before starting up a steady pace to turn Harry’s whimpers into full-out sobs. Nick tried to watch as Harry’s back muscles moved and pulled, his arm working double-time underneath him. Nick was momentarily distracted by the way Harry’s right shoulder moved as he worked himself over.

Harry tried to wave his left hand behind him, tried to get Nick’s attention. “Nick,” His voice was wrecked, and cracked halfway through his name. “’M gonna-” He didn’t finish before his back arched, legs shaking, choked sobs as he came. Nick settled his hands on Harry’s hips, rubbed his thumbs over his sharp hipbones, waited for him to come down.

Harry clumsily flipped over, threw his arm over his eyes. Nick went to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel, wiped Harry’s hand and moved to his stomach, not missing a chance to laugh at the ridiculous butterfly smack dab in the middle of it. He pulled Harry’s arm off his face. “Hi, love.” He whispered. 

He smiled up at him, eyes soft but bright, so so bright. “Missed you.” Nick cuddled in, laid Harry’s head on his chest, pushed his hair to the side.

“Missed you more.”


End file.
